


do you want more of this (isn’t it glorious)

by softeldritch



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (too many kinks to tag. oops.), Alternate Universe - Space, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Con Artists, Consensual Mind Control, Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Dynamics, Violence, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: “I’m Patrik,” he says, his voice dripping into Nikolaj’s veins like honey. There’s something magnetic about the way he leans in, mouth tugging into an inviting grin. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”Nikolaj feels a strange little tug at the base of his skull, wispy and insubstantial like smoke. “Yeah,” he says, and he barely recognizes the word.





	do you want more of this (isn’t it glorious)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was entirely inspired by this gif:  
  
and the subsequent Discussion kendall and i had on twitter. also leo’s reactions because they were being dragged down into this hell with us.
> 
> is this the filthiest thing i’ve ever written? you bet!
> 
> that dubcon tag is kinda just in case?? ymmv but there’s more info in the end note
> 
> (title from _you belong to me_ by cat pierce)

The man who catches Nikolaj’s eye across the bar of Pandora’s seediest club is exactly the kind of guy he knows to avoid. Tall, broad, carrying a gun at his hip. Not to mention how calm and confident he looks, leaning back against the wall in one of the most dangerous clubs this corner of space. 

Nikolaj’s just as comfortable in places like this, which is exactly the problem. He knows how dangerous _he_ is.

The guy stares at him for a moment, eyes electric in the flashing lights and hazy smoke. Nikolaj stares back, waiting for the other guy to look away first—eye contact is an invitation for trouble, but looking away is an invitation to get shanked and robbed in an alley—but he just holds Nikolaj’s gaze. A smirk tugs at his mouth, crooked and somehow a little obscene, and Nikolaj’s heartbeat jumps up when he pushes off the wall and starts approaching.

Suddenly Nikolaj’s grateful he never goes anywhere on Pandora without a gun. This lawless hellhole of a space station is good at keeping everyone paranoid.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting. Something more dramatic than the man simply sliding onto the stool next to him, one elbow on the bar. He’s more intimidating up close, broad shoulders and a strong jaw, pinning Nikolaj in place with his (stupidly, ridiculously blue) eyes.

“I’m Patrik,” he says, his voice dripping into Nikolaj’s veins like honey. There’s something magnetic about the way he leans in, mouth tugging into an inviting grin. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

Nikolaj feels a strange little tug at the base of his skull, wispy and insubstantial like smoke. “Yeah,” he says, and he barely recognizes the word.

He waves the bartender over and lets Patrik order, pulling out his ID card to put it on his tab. When he turns away from the bartender, Patrik’s smiling at him. “What’s your name?”

A shiver runs up Nikolaj’s spine. Heavily, helplessly, he leans a little into Patrik’s space. “Nikolaj,” he says quietly, his voice almost catching in his throat.

“Nice to meet you, Nikolaj,” Patrik says. His drink slides across the bar and he takes it without looking away from Nikolaj’s eyes. 

Nikolaj hasn’t actually ordered his own drink yet. He doesn’t think he has, at least; his limbs have gone loose, his legs wobbly. There’s a fog clouding his head as he stares at the blue of Patrik’s eyes, the scruff on his jaw, the way his throat bobs when he swallows. The music of the club seems a little quieter, now, with Patrik sitting this close, his knee pressing warm and solid against Nikolaj’s.

He realizes a second too late he hasn’t said anything in response. Warmth floods up his face and he stutters out, “you—you too,” ignoring the curl of arousal in his gut when Patrik’s grin crooks wider.

“Nikolaj,” Patrik murmurs, and the way he says Nikolaj’s _name_—low and languid, resonating all the way down Nikolaj’s spine. “Do you live on station? Or are you just visiting?”

“I live here,” Nikolaj answers, almost immediately. “Mostly.”

Patrik raises an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

Revealing too much on a place like Pandora, to a man like Patrik, is a bad idea. The words spill from Nikolaj’s mouth anyway. “I’m a merc,” he says, almost rushing to explain himself. “I’m with a group right now, sometimes we’re hired out.”

Slowly, Patrik nods. Nikolaj’s brain buzzes. 

Patrik’s hand curls around his knee, slides obscenely high up his thigh. Nikolaj shudders, muscle twitching under Patrik’s fingers, toes curling when Patrik’s thumb presses to the softness of his inner thigh. “Are you any good?” Patrik asks, leaning closer.

“Yeah.” He sways towards the pull of Patrik’s voice, smooth and dark. “I’m in, uh, pretty high demand.”

Mouth twitching, Patrik digs almost painfully into Nikolaj’s inner thigh. “A little higher demand, now.” When he leans in Nikolaj’s already breathless from it, head reeling as Patrik’s words burrow under his skin. He shivers at the warmth of Patrik’s breath on his ear, nearly close enough for his lips to touch when he says, “why don’t you take me back to your place, Nikolaj?”

Nikolaj’s full-body shiver is violent, almost painful. “Yes,” he gasps out, grasping at Patrik’s forearm, fingers scrunching up his sleeve. “Yes, fuck—”

Patrik slips off the barstool, steps out of Nikolaj’s space. Nikolaj feels the loss like a piece of himself has been carved out of his chest. “C’mon,” Patrik says with a soft, dangerous grin. The exact kind of grin that gives Nikolaj shivers, heartbeat skittering in his chest. “Your place, right? Lead the way.”

Nikolaj’s legs tremble beneath him when he stands, almost crumpling beneath his weight. He steadies himself with a hand on the bar, lust-drunk fog creeping through his head, making his limbs weak. Despite it he manages to stand and start weaving through the crowd of the club, towards the exit.

Too eager, Nikolaj thinks. Too hurried. But he can feel the warmth of Patrik at his back, and any shame of being too desperate for it dissolves under the weight of the fog.

Pandora never sleeps. It’s scrapped together in an ancient structure built into the crumbled remnants of an asteroid, too far from its star to have noticeable day-night cycles. So there are people of all kinds doing all manner of things as Nikolaj leads Patrik through its dark, grungy streets. Most of them are criminals—and usually Nikolaj would be keeping an eye on them, watching for any sign of danger, but right now it’s all he can do to keep himself focused enough to walk the familiar path back to his apartment block.

Nice is relative on Pandora, but Nikolaj _does_ live in one of the cleaner areas. Like he told Patrik; _high demand_.

“You live here?” Patrik whistles, and Nikolaj almost stumbles in his hurry to turn. Patrik’s head is tipped up, neon lights soft on the angles of his face as he gazes up at Nikolaj’s building. “Very good, Nikolaj.”

The praise floods through Nikolaj’s veins like liquid gold. He swallows and brings Patrik inside, not trusting himself to speak as they step into the elevator together.

His nerves are scraped raw and frayed when he keys in the code for his apartment and steps through, Patrik following close behind. The apartment is dark, neon lights peeking through the slatted blinds and casting lines of soft violet light on the rumpled sheets of Nikolaj’s bed. Now that they’re here his legs feel stuck, his mind completely clouded, waiting for—waiting for Patrik to do something.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Patrik crowds up against his back, hands curling big and powerful around his waist. “Nice place,” he murmurs, his voice heavy on Nikolaj’s shoulders. “You must have some nice things here.” The words are a scratch in Nikolaj’s brain, a sharp contrast to the silk of his voice, but when Patrik leans in closer his lips brush Nikolaj’s ear and Nikolaj shudders in his arms. “How about you show me where you keep them?”

Another scratch. Nikolaj—

Nikolaj wants to show him, feels the pull at the base of his spine and the back of his skull. But with the brush of Patrik’s lips on his skin comes the brush of Patrik’s mind against his own. He feels Patrik’s perfectly constructed charm, the deliberate pressure of his voice.

Oh. Oh, Patrik’s like _him_.

Not exactly. Patrik probably can’t read minds through skin contact. But his voice is more than just smooth, his tongue more than just silver.

Nikolaj fights through the fog, grabbing desperately at Patrik’s hands. His hands are shaking on Patrik’s knuckles, his breath coming in quick, hard pants. “No,” he manages, his voice thick. Patrik’s hands tighten around his waist and Nikolaj feels something _dangerous_ from him, a warning at the back of his mind. “I’m not—I’m not letting you rob me.” He digs his fingernails into the backs of Patrik’s hands. “I can see right through you and—and whatever you’re doing.”

Silence. Through the still-lingering weight of Patrik’s compulsion Nikolaj’s instincts are screaming; he has a predator pressed against his back, and with their hands touching he’s catching glimpses of all the sharp, cruel emotions whirling in Patrik’s head.

Nikolaj’s chest heaves, trying and failing to gasp down enough air to clear his head.

Teeth graze the shell of Nikolaj’s ear. His heart skips.

“If you aren’t going to let me take your stuff,” Patrik hums, his voice low, rumbling through Nikolaj’s body, “then you owe me something else, right?”

Now that he’s recognized it, he can feel the compulsion lacing Patrik’s words like a drug. The need to submit, to obey . . . it drags on him, heavy and narcotic, dripping down his spine and tingling in his thighs. He also knows he could resist. Counterbalance the weight and pull out of its gravity.

Patrik is exactly the kind of man Nikolaj knows to avoid. He’s also his exact weakness.

Nikolaj lets go. He sinks deeper into the fog, sinks back against Patrik’s solid body, head tipping back as a moan slips out of his throat.

The hands on his waist tuck up under his shirt, fingers pressing against the soft skin of his stomach. Patrik’s teeth scrape over his ear, the edge of his jaw, down the column of his throat. He murmurs, “good boy,” into Nikolaj’s skin and it spreads across Nikolaj’s shoulders and down his spine, slow and sweet. He doesn’t fight it when Patrik’s hands drag down to his hips, thumbs pressing in as he turns Nikolaj around. Instead he clutches at Patrik’s shoulders when they’re face to face, legs trembling as his eyes catch on the crookedness of Patrik’s smirk.

“Fuck,” Nikolaj says.

“That’s the idea,” Patrik croons.

He doesn’t kiss Nikolaj. His lips brush Nikolaj’s jaw when he leans down, then press against his neck. Nikolaj whines, fingers digging into Patrik’s shoulders as teeth drag dangerously down his throat, a moan punching out when Patrik bites down _hard_ and starts working a mark into his skin. 

Nikolaj’s crumbling. 

Patrik pulls back, blue eyes painfully sharp as he stares at his work. Satisfaction tugs at his mouth, another magnetic smile Nikolaj can’t stop staring at. Then he leans in again and Nikolaj wonders if he might kiss him this time—but he ducks further, mouthing at the lobe of Nikolaj’s ear, voice a purr when he says, “take your clothes off.”

Nikolaj’s out of his boots in an instant, hands scrabbling at his jacket before he even realizes it. He wrestles it off, panting—

“_Slower_,” Patrik says sharply, and Nikolaj freezes.

“I—” He swallows, fingers twitching, arousal and embarrassment hot under his skin. Part of him doesn’t want to, but Patrik’s compulsion drags him under, fills his lungs until he can barely breathe. When he starts moving again he’s slow, as though he’s moving underwater.

“Look at me.” Nikolaj’s eyes flick up helplessly. Patrik’s watching him so intently he _feels_ it, like fingernails dragging over his skin. “Keep going,” Patrik says, impatience running just beneath his voice.

Oh. Nikolaj doesn’t want to _disappoint _him.

Flushed, shaking, he reaches over his shoulders and pulls his shirt up as slow as he can manage. Cool air hits his sweat-drenched skin and he shivers, goosebumps prickling up his back. He holds Patrik’s impossible stare as he tugs at his pants, jaw trembling and heart pounding as he pulls them and his underwear down in one go. Then he kicks them off the rest of the way.

Patrik says nothing. Nikolaj burns hotter, heartbeat thudding through the fog in his brain like a musical beat at some smoky club. He’s having trouble focusing on anything that isn’t the electrifying blue of Patrik’s eyes.

“Do something,” Nikolaj manages, voice breaking. _Please, please_.

Patrik’s pale eyebrows raise. “I don’t think you should be trying to give orders here,” he says quietly.

The hairs on the back of Nikolaj’s neck stand on end, a prickle of fear starting at the top of his spine and spreading over his scalp. Through the haze in his mind he’s recognizing how much trouble he’s in, just how much more dangerous Patrik is than he thought.

But he’s already naked and trembling in front of Patrik, already drunk on his influence. He’s in this now, for better or for worse.

It takes a moment before he realizes he’s dipped his head, staring up at Patrik through his lashes. Nikolaj feels a vague, uncomfortable squirm of shame at how readily he’s making himself _smaller_. But Patrik grins, stepping into Nikolaj’s orbit, and any thought other than the weight of his stare slips out of Nikolaj’s mind.

“I wanna watch you,” Patrik says. He gets a knuckle beneath Nikolaj’s chin, tips his head up to face him—then further, until Nikolaj’s throat is tight. The vulnerability of it makes him shiver. “Get on the bed. On your back.”

The muscles in Nikolaj’s thighs twitch. He follows the tug at the base of his spine, huffing out a harsh breath as he steps out of the gravity of Patrik’s orbit. His sheets are starch against his oversensitive skin and Nikolaj squirms even as he collapses onto his back, face twisting at the drag of fabric on the backs of his thighs. He curls shaking hands in the sheets, chest heaving as he struggles on air that feels as thick and warm as blood.

He hears Patrik’s footsteps, surprisingly soft. Part of Nikolaj wants to sit up and watch him, but the other part—the part that’s slowly slipping under the surface of choppy black waves—just stares up at the ceiling and arches against the bed. His fingers ache from clenching the sheets so hard, his dick painfully hard against his stomach. But he doesn’t touch, because—because Patrik hasn’t told him he could.

Nikolaj’s never wanted to be so good, so _desperately_.

“Give me your hand,” Patrik murmurs, and his voice is softer, gentler. But the edge of it catches on Nikolaj’s frayed edges and tugs him into obeying. He offers his hand, breaking a noise against his teeth when Patrik places something in his open palm and curls his fingers around it. Everywhere Patrik touches him is a spark, a tiny glimpse into the images and thoughts and feelings flashing through Patrik’s mind.

For a moment, he sees himself, glassy-eyed and wanton. It’s . . . it’s _embarrassing_.

Nikolaj whines, hand falling back to the bed with a thump when Patrik’s grip slips away. He’s barely connected to his own body, to his own _mind_. Everything is a mess of sensory input and sparking nerves and Patrik’s voice is the only anchor he has to hold onto.

He knows exactly how much trouble that is, but . . . he doesn’t _care_.

Patrik’s palm suddenly spreads wide over his stomach, pressing down until Nikolaj wheezes. “You’re so good for me,” Patrik murmurs, his tone somehow equally praising and mocking. Nikolaj squirms, fingers slipping around whatever Patrik put in his hand. “You’re going to do something else.” Fingertips trail over Nikolaj’s skin, leaving buzzing trails in their wake as he traces a path over Nikolaj’s hip, his inner thigh, the back of his leg. “You’re going to open yourself up. Get yourself ready.”

The words catch in Nikolaj’s brain, sticky and uncomfortable. “What?” He barely recognizes his own voice. High-pitched and soft and crumbling around the edges. Shame burns inside him at the idea of—of doing _that_. He’s never done it in front of anyone before, not for an audience. “Patrik, I—I can’t—”

Patrik’s hand withdraws. “You will.”

Oh. It’s just . . . that simple.

With trembling hands, Nikolaj pops the cap off the lube he’s only now realizing is what Patrik gave him. He coats his fingers with it and tries to get his breathing under control. 

Patrik’s staring at him. Nikolaj’s not looking at him, but he can _feel_ the sharp pressure of Patrik’s gaze, like the flat of a knife dragging over his skin. It makes it so much harder to reach down between his legs and he hesitates, teeth digging painfully into his lower lip as his red-hot shame pushes against the strength of Patrik’s compulsion.

“You don’t want me losing my patience,” Patrik murmurs. “Let me see you, Nikolaj.”

Fuck, Patrik saying his name—

Shoving past his hesitation, Nikolaj reaches down between his thighs and slips a finger over his hole. He stutters out a breath, a whine catching in the back of his throat as he rubs the pads of his fingers over his opening. His dick twitches, thighs already shaking. Nikolaj’s always liked this, and something about knowing Patrik’s watching him do this to _himself_—he moans, eyes squeezing shut, shame shooting sparks straight down to the base of his spine.

Almost clumsily, he works a finger inside himself. The feeling is as electric as it always is and Nikolaj doesn’t even give himself a second to get used to it before shoving in another.

“_Fuck_,” he gasps, curling his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, I can’t—” A whine slips through his teeth, high and pathetic, and he starts fucking himself with his fingers, chasing the arousal buzzing through his veins like a drug. It’s so much _more_ like this, with his own fingers, the heady fog of Patrik’s compulsion floating through him.

“You look good like this,” Patrik croons. “I think it would be better if you were looking at _me_, though.”

Oh, no. No, _fuck_. Nikolaj _can’t_. Not like this, not when Patrik’s gaze already feels like it’s carving under his skin, carving out some indelible mark.

But Nikolaj follows that intangible tug helplessly, eyes fluttering open as he struggles up onto one elbow. He meets Patrik’s stare with burning cheeks and his fingers crooked inside himself, massaging slowly and making himself shake. Patrik stares back, eyes bright and dangerous, grinning wickedly.

Nikolaj feels completely bare; he feels like Patrik’s cracked open his ribcage and gotten a hand around his wildly beating heart. Humiliation burns under his skin, swirling low in his belly.

“Patrik,” he whispers. “Patrik, I—”

Patrik’s grin curls wider. Finally, _finally_, he crawls onto the edge of the bed on his knees, still towering over Nikolaj despite that. “I could make you get off like this,” he says quietly, a promise and a threat, and it sends a terrifying bolt of arousal straight to Nikolaj’s cock. “But I won’t,” he continues, and his hand curls loosely around Nikolaj’s ankle, slides up his calf until he’s wrapped it under the crook of Nikolaj’s knee, “because I want to fuck you.”

He hauls Nikolaj halfway into his lap. Nikolaj squeaks, fingers twitching, and almost fucking comes right then.

“Oh,” Patrik murmurs. His gaze flicks down to Nikolaj’s cock. That’s embarrassing too, being naked and on display and hopelessly turned on, while Patrik’s still fully dressed. Slowly, Patrik traces a finger up the length of Nikolaj’s dick—Nikolaj _moans_, writhing even more onto Patrik’s lap. “You’re cute like this.”

“D-don’t call—” is all Nikolaj manages. Then Patrik’s finger presses in alongside both of his own and Nikolaj’s brain turns to static as he bucks his hips and keens embarrassingly loud.

He loses a moment to the fog. It’s all need and sensation, his own desperation and Patrik’s arousal and the bright, buzzing feeling of Patrik’s finger moving inside him.

When Nikolaj’s head clears it’s because Patrik’s got a hand curled around his wrist, tugging his fingers out. Nikolaj curls his fingers, desperate. “No, don’t—” But he doesn’t fight against Patrik’s grip, just keeps whining at the sudden emptiness, “please, _please_ . . .”

Stillness stretches between them, as Patrik stares down. Nikolaj squirms.

“Please,” he whispers again.

Patrik grins. Then he flips Nikolaj onto his stomach so fast Nikolaj’s breathless, hauling him up by the hips so his back’s arched, burning face pressed to the sheets. “Stay like this,” Patrik murmurs, and Nikolaj feels a little like there are fingers digging into his _brain_.

The first press of Patrik’s dick inside him punches a noise out that Nikolaj didn’t even know he could _make_. Patrik doesn’t give him any time to accommodate, just grinds slowly forward, hands sweeping up his sides as he forces Nikolaj to adapt. He’s—he’s _big_, and Nikolaj gasps wetly against the sheets, dragging down air that does nothing to help his lightheadedness. 

He’s trembling so hard it’s painful. His brain is buzzing, floating, and he curls his fingers into the sheets, grasping for something solid to hold onto as Patrik’s voice winds through his blood and carves into his nerves. Patrik’s inside him _everywhere_—hips rolling into his ass, voice weaving into the grooves of his brain. 

Nikolaj shudders. Too much, too _much_—

Gently, Patrik sweeps a big, open hand up the sweat-slick skin of his back. “Nikolaj,” he purrs, and the sound takes Nikolaj by the throat, “let go.”

And Nikolaj does.

Something in him melts as Patrik fucks him. Nikolaj feels as though he’s spilling out of himself, leaking from all the scars he’s collected over the years. He’s outside of his own head, outside of his own body—but also trapped in it, forced to feel the drag of Patrik’s dick inside him. It’s fucked, recognizing how little control he has, knowing he couldn’t drag himself out of it if he tried.

Knowing he wouldn’t _want_ to.

Patrik keeps running his mouth, telling Nikolaj he’s good, telling him how it feels. The power of his compulsion’s so much stronger with all of Nikolaj’s defenses stripped down. Like he can actually _feel_ Patrik’s words on his skin, against his raw, sparking nerves.

“I bet you want to come,” Patrik says, and the words take root, and suddenly Nikolaj’s right on the edge. He moans, cheek rubbing against the bedsheets as he nods. Then Patrik drags his fingertips up Nikolaj’s spine, says, “you won’t until I tell you to,” and Nikolaj—

Nikolaj shatters.

He . . . loses himself. Everything is feeling and need and the velvet of Patrik’s voice, and Nikolaj gives up on any semblance of control.

When Patrik tells him he can come, Nikolaj bites clumsily at the sheets and _wails_. He shakes through it, shakes as Patrik keeps fucking him, rubbing over every raw and oversensitive nerve inside of him. The pleasure-pain only makes the buzzing in his brain louder, and Patrik’s still talking to him—

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, the words warm under Nikolaj’s skin, “maybe I should keep you like this. Mindless, not having to worry about anything, just something for me to fuck—doesn’t that sound nice?” He pinches Nikolaj’s thigh. “Don’t you want that, Nikolaj?”

_Yes_.

Maybe he says it aloud, too. Because Patrik murmurs, “good boy,” and fucks him deeper, harder, faster. It all bleeds together in Nikolaj’s head, the sparking, painful drag of Patrik’s cock against his prostate, the warmth of Patrik’s hands around his hips.

Then Patrik comes, and suddenly Nikolaj can only feel _that_.

Patrik fucks him through it slowly, his groan ringing in Nikolaj’s ears. Then he pulls out, his hands slip away—and Nikolaj collapses, knees slipping over the bed as he lands hard on his stomach. He can feel warmth leaking from his hole, cheeks burning at the messy, sloppy feeling, unable to press his thighs together to try and stop it.

He can’t move. He’s still not . . . all there. 

Everything is strange and off-balance, Nikolaj’s stomach swooping as though he’s floating. And, just beneath that, painfully hot shame, humiliation at being used so thoroughly.

At his core, he just feels . . . fragile.

Nikolaj doesn’t move, as Patrik collapses on the bed next to him with a huff. His face is turned away from Patrik, and he’s kind of grateful, because he’s starting to feel a little bit—well, not quite violated, but something close. He’s never been so thoroughly _wrecked_. Facing Patrik after that isn’t something he’s up to just yet.

Funny, though, that even with all that, he still doesn’t quite regret it.

“How did you know?” Patrik asks, while Nikolaj’s still reeling. The compulsion’s mostly gone from his voice, but there’s a lingering hint of it, tugging at the melted remains of Nikolaj’s brain. “How did you say no?”

Nikolaj takes a moment to respond. “I’m like you,” he murmurs, voice broken, thick like he’s been crying. “If I touch skin, I can . . . read people.” It’s dangerous, telling Patrik this. Nikolaj’s met a few people over the years who have powers, and a lot of them are so used to being the most powerful person in a given room that they don’t like someone being on a level playing field.

For a long second, Patrik’s quiet. Then his fingertips dance up Nikolaj’s spine, and Nikolaj catches glimpses of his mind; Patrik’s intrigued, interested, carefully planning. “We’ll work well together,” he says, like it’s already true. Like Nikolaj’s already agreed.

Nikolaj . . . can’t say no.

(Actually, he could.)

(He doesn’t.)

* * *

They _do_ work well together, as it turns out. Together they develop the perfect system to con the people of Pandora out of anything they want; Nikolaj finds their targets, brushes his skin against theirs to see what they have to offer, what they want most. Then he reports it back to Patrik—Patrik curls his hand around the back of Nikolaj’s neck, murmurs _good, Nikolaj _so low and deep Nikolaj feels it in his bones—and Patrik goes and works his silver tongue to convince their mark to give him whatever it is they’re after.

Apparently having Nikolaj around makes it much easier. Patrik says his compulsion works a lot better when he knows what people want, and can offer vague promises; they’re a lot more ready to listen to what he has to say. “That’s why you went so easy,” he’d offered as explanation, fingers tugging through Nikolaj’s hair. “Because you wanted _me_.”

(Nikolaj didn’t have a response for that at the time. He still doesn’t.)

Now, though, Nikolaj can recognize Patrik’s compulsion, so . . . he has no excuse for all the things Patrik tells him to do. Patrik says, “you should quit your mercenary group, you’re _mine_,” and Nikolaj sends in a message announcing his departure that same day. Patrik tells him, “My place is nicer, move in with me,” and Nikolaj packs up his shit and moves in immediately.

Once, Nikolaj’s on his knees, unable to think beyond Patrik’s cock in his mouth. Patrik drags his fingers over his scalp and murmurs, “you should stop shaving your hair and let it grow out. Give me something to hold onto.”

Nikolaj, well—Nikolaj does that too.

They take everything they want from Pandora and then some. Weapons, money, a pair of really nice hoverbikes to get around. It’s a criminal’s paradise and it doesn’t take them long to subtly rise the ranks, becoming vague, dangerous names to watch out for in the dark.

Nikolaj loves it. He wants _more_. And from all the time he spends glimpsing into Patrik’s mind, he knows Patrik wants that just as much.

“We should take someone’s ship,” Nikolaj says once, while they’re curled into a corner booth in a bar, waiting for someone interesting to walk by. He’s half in Patrik’s lap, fingers locked tightly around Patrik’s wrist where his hand is clenched around Nikolaj’s thigh. “Then we could leave, go somewhere with richer marks. We could have anything we wanted.” Patrik doesn’t like being told what to do, but he can listen to suggestions if they align with his own goals. 

Patrik’s teeth graze Nikolaj’s throat. “You want to leave?”

“Only if you do.”

He’s ashamed of just how true that is. Patrik’s got him under, and Nikolaj can’t bring himself to come up for air.

Patrik _does_ want, just like Nikolaj knew he would. They convince a man to hand over the codes to his small personal ship—and his money, for good measure—and leave Pandora behind with Nikolaj at the helm and Patrik leaning against the side of his pilot’s chair.

As they leave Pandora’s airspace, the orbiting remains of the asteroid disappear from view, and there’s only the black expanse of space and millions of stars. A shiver runs up Nikolaj’s spine. This feels like the start of something significant.

Patrik’s knuckle trails up the side of his throat, gentle. “You’re alone with me now,” he murmurs, and in the silence of the ship Nikolaj feels it resonate in his bones. “Nowhere to run.”

Nikolaj shudders. “What makes you think I’m running?”

A low, mean laugh echoes in the silence. “I already know you’re not. Because you’re under my control.”

It’s terrifyingly true. It’s also not so black and white. They’re only leaving Pandora because _Nikolaj_ suggested it, after all.

* * *

They have surprisingly little trouble getting into the embassies on Aeris, one of the most high-profile, self-important planets in the entire inner ring. Both of them can clean up nice, and Patrik talks their way in without needing a pass. Even more surprising is how easy it is getting into the apartments of the visiting ambassadors and dignitaries. 

Nikolaj’d think they’d have better security, for being a bunch of politicians, but all it takes is Patrik sidling up to an armed guard and leaning in to whisper in his ear and suddenly they’re being escorted inside and handed an all-access pass.

“I’ll never get over how easy that is,” Nikolaj says quietly, once the guard has disappeared. He and Patrik share a grin.

They came here for a reason, though. One of the visiting dignitaries has an old, perfectly preserved Earth-era necklace they can sell for a lot of money, and she’ll only be in council for a few more hours. So they head through the halls until they come to her door; Patrik unlocks it, then steps inside first.

Patrik always goes first. 

The dignitary’s apartment is huge and mostly empty, the minimalist design lit only by the night lights of the city streaming in through the slatted blinds covering the entire wall of windows. There are barely any signs of life; a coat, folded perfectly over the back of a chair, and a discarded holopad on one of the square white couches.

“It’ll probably be in her bedroom,” Patrik says. He reaches back, hand curling around Nikolaj’s wrist without thinking, fingers pressing against Nikolaj’s pulse. “Stay near me.”

Even without the dragging weight of the compulsion, that’s a directive Nikolaj has no trouble following.

Together they slip into the bedroom. It’s as open and minimal as the rest of the space. Perfectly made bed, a screen high up on the wall, a pair of sliding doors that open to a bathroom and a closet. 

“Closet first,” Patrik murmurs, pulling Nikolaj in the direction of the closet. It’s nearly the same size as the bedroom, filled with dressers and shelves and racks of clothing. There’s also a weirdly voyeuristic mirror spanning the entire far wall, reflecting the grip of Patrik’s hand around his wrist, the way Nikolaj’s made himself smaller, the way he’s standing a half-step behind.

He shivers, looking away, and slips out of Patrik’s loosened grip.

They search the closet in silence. Nikolaj checks over a couple shelves, opens up a dresser, with no luck finding anything even remotely shiny. He’s pulling out the drawers in a big metal cabinet when he hears Patrik’s footsteps padding over, boots soft on the carpet.

“Find anything?” He starts turning—and his shoulder bumps against Patrik’s chest, as Patrik crowds up against his back. “Uh.”

A hand splays over his stomach, Patrik’s face ducking close enough that his mouth brushes against Nikolaj’s ear. “Look at me,” Patrik croons. Helplessly, Nikolaj’s eyes flick up, catching the blue of Patrik’s gaze in the mirror in front of them. Fuck, Patrik’s terrifying, pressed up against his back like that, and Nikolaj . . . Nikolaj can already see himself getting shaky, his jaw already tight.

He sees his own throat bob as he swallows. “Patrik,” he says, uncertain, “what are you—”

Patrik lifts his arm. He’s rolled his sleeves up at some point, and Nikolaj’s eyes catch on the shift of muscle beneath the ink on his skin. Then he notices Patrik’s got something in his hand, and—

“Patrik,” he says again. His voice breaks a little. “What are you doing?”

The thing Patrik’s holding—Nikolaj’s pretty sure it’s _lingerie_. It’s all black and lacy, just a slip of fabric. “I think you’d look good in these,” Patrik croons, his voice weaving into Nikolaj’s ear, down his brainstem, winding tight around his skull. And his lips are touching Nikolaj’s skin, so Nikolaj can _see_ exactly how good Patrik thinks he’d look. He sees the hazy image of himself, naked except for a pair of lacy black panties.

It’s so much—Nikolaj feels lightheaded.

“We—we’re in the middle of a _job_,” he snaps, legs already trembling. His grip goes tight around the edge of the cabinet, the metal edge digging painfully into his palms.

Patrik stares at him, calm and cool and dangerous. “You want it too,” he says, dragging Nikolaj down even further. “Don’t you want to be good for me, Nikolaj?”

Nikolaj’s drowning, in his voice and in his _eyes_. “I—” He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He can’t look away from Patrik’s gaze. “_No_,” he manages, “no, Patrik, I _can’t_—”

Patrik’s fingertips dig into his stomach. “Yeah, you can. You will.”

Fog floods through Nikolaj’s skull, Patrik’s voice hooking fingers into his brain, pulling him under the influence. He grips the cabinet tighter. The surface is still visible—Nikolaj could haul himself up and out, straight-up refuse to play along with Patrik’s whims.

Shuddering, he bows his head. “I will.”

Patrik kisses him, just behind his jaw. “Good, Niky,” he purrs, and the nickname turns Nikolaj’s legs weak and liquid. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t stand on his own if he tried.

Luckily, Patrik doesn’t seem interested in letting that happen. His hands slip up under Nikolaj’s shirt, callused fingers dragging over Nikolaj’s skin as he slowly tugs the shirt up. He strips off the rest of Nikolaj’s clothes just as achingly slow, constantly pausing just to _touch_ while Nikolaj leans against the cabinet and tries to gulp down enough air that he doesn’t pass out.

Then Nikolaj’s completely naked, with Patrik fully clothed and plastered against his back.

Patrik trails biting kisses across Nikolaj’s shoulders, latches his teeth around the knobs of Nikolaj’s spine and bites him hard enough it stings. “Put them on.” Then he steps away, leaving Nikolaj cold and aching, legs trembling beneath his own weight.

Hesitant, Nikolaj slides his hand over the surface of the cabinet, until his fingers tangle in the lacy fabric of the panties. They’re surprisingly soft against his skin.

Oh, fuck. This is . . . this is _humiliating_.

“P-Patrik,” he stammers, voice catching in his throat. “I—I don’t—”

Maybe he’s obvious, or maybe Patrik knows him well enough to know what he needs. 

A warm, broad hand spreads wide over the nape of his neck, grip tightening as Patrik steps back into place behind him. “Put them on, Niky,” he repeats, slow and measured, _dripping_ with compulsion. It lands on Nikolaj’s skin like melted wax, drips down the slope of his shoulders and the curve of his back, a singular point of buzzing sensation for him to focus on. “Make yourself pretty for me.”

_Oh_.

More gracefully than he feels, Nikolaj bends over and slips his feet into the panties. He pulls them up as he straightens, shivering at the delicate drag of the lace over his oversensitive skin. They don’t quite fit, the waistband digging in uncomfortably tight.

He stands fully, leaning back against Patrik’s weight, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze through the mirror. “That’s it,” Patrik murmurs. 

Patrik’s arm wraps around his waist. Almost effortlessly, he hauls Nikolaj over, so there’s nothing between him and the mirror anymore. Nikolaj moans brokenly at how easily Patrik can pull him around—then moans again, high and desperate, when he sees how he _looks_. Being naked while Patrik’s clothed makes him look even slimmer, even smaller, and the blotchy flush on his cheeks has crept all the way down to his chest, and the panties—

“Patrik,” Nikolaj gasps, gripping at Patrik’s tattooed wrist, fingers digging into the ink. “Patrik—”

“Say it.”

“It looks _good_.” Shame burns under Nikolaj’s skin at admitting it. 

In the mirror, Patrik’s grin curls wider, his eyes bright even in the dim light. “Yeah, it does.” His hand dips lower, sliding down Nikolaj’s stomach, fingers playing with the edge of the lace. “Now what should I do with you, though?”

“Touch me,” and then, because he knows Patrik hates being told what to do, “please.”

“But we’re on a job,” Patrik croons, his grin a little crueller as he sweeps his fingertips over Nikolaj’s hipbones. “We should get back to work, shouldn’t we?”

Nikolaj squirms, head tipping back against Patrik’s shoulder. He stares at them in the mirror through half-lidded eyes—at Patrik’s smug grin, at his own erection, straining against the panties, at Patrik’s tattoo. “_Don’t_,” he pants, grasping at Patrik’s arm. “Don’t tease, Patrik, I—”

Patrik bites him, and Nikolaj’s mouth snaps shut as the whines through his teeth. “Stop telling me what to do.”

“_Please_.”

He learned early; Patrik always likes hearing him beg.

Nikolaj’s legs almost crumple when Patrik rubs a hand over his dick, almost painfully rough. He collapses back against Patrik, trusting him to take his weight—trusting him to take _everything_.

Patrik gets him off just like that; holding Nikolaj up and letting Nikolaj grind against the heel of his hand. The lace chafes and the pressure’s too much, and Nikolaj claws at Patrik’s forearm and rolls his hips as he chases his orgasm. When he comes it’s with Patrik’s voice in his ear—_that’s it, Nikolaj, you’re so desperate_.

Then before he’s even had a chance to recover Patrik says, “on your knees, Niky,” and Nikolaj drops so fast it hurts.

His head’s swimming as Patrik feeds his cock into his mouth. Everything fades away but the taste, the ache of his jaw, the sting of Patrik guiding him by his hair. Patrik fucks his mouth and he sinks further into the fog, loses track of time. Loses track of everything. He swallows when Patrik comes, struggling to breathe through his nose, and when Patrik finally pulls back Nikolaj feels saliva leaking from the corner of his slack mouth.

It’s a struggle to open his eyes. He manages, because he knows Patrik wants it, and Patrik’s staring back down when he finally does. “So pretty,” Patrik murmurs, thumb sweeping over Nikolaj’s lip. “Why don’t I just keep you like this all the time?”

Nikolaj shivers, eyes fluttering shut as his stomach twists. It’s terrifying how appealing that is.

“Stay here,” Patrik says, hands running through Nikolaj’s hair, soothing the sting of how sharply he’d pulled. “I’ll find the thing.” 

Nikolaj drifts back down slowly. Without Patrik’s voice in his ear, in his _mind_, there’s nothing holding his head under the water. He breaks the surface, gulps down air as he solidifies again. As his mind returns, so does the awareness that his knees and jaw are sore, that his come has dried uncomfortably in the panties.

“_Fuck_,” he whispers, fingers digging into his own thighs.

Patrik walks back into view and Nikolaj’s heart thumps. “Found it,” Patrik says with a grin, patting the pocket of his fancy coat. He offers Nikolaj a hand, pulling him easily to his feet when Nikolaj takes it. “We should get you dressed.”

Nikolaj nods. “Yeah.” His thumbs hook into the panties.

“No, you can keep those on.”

This time the compulsion is a hard _tug_, and Nikolaj stumbles. “What?” He glances at Patrik, hands frozen at his hips.

Patrik’s mouth crooks into a wicked grin. “You look so pretty,” he coos, appreciative and condescending all at once, stoking something warm and shameful to life in Nikolaj’s belly.

Nikolaj’s pretty sure this is one of the times he should put his foot down and say no. Instead, he squirms under Patrik’s gaze, and nods.

That’s the problem with Patrik’s manipulation. It works so much better when he’s offering something his target _wants_.

* * *

Sometimes Nikolaj doesn’t play nice. He likes butting heads with Patrik as much as he likes sinking into the compulsion, because Patrik’s more fun when he’s angry. Sometimes he says no, just to see what Patrik will do. Patrik’s a lot, well, bigger than Nikolaj. And if he can’t get his way with words alone, he can and _will_ use force. 

Plus, sometimes, Patrik needs to be put in his place. Nikolaj’s disobeyed him on jobs before when he knows a way to do it better—and almost every time, he’s been fucking right.

So it’s not that Nikolaj has _no_ power.

He’s just . . . never resisted the compulsion during sex before.

By all rights he doesn’t need to. Patrik’s a bastard, but he’s clever and attentive and always brings Nikolaj tumbling over ever edge he has. And—he hates admitting it, even to himself—Nikolaj’s addicted to the fog of Patrik’s silver tongue. The slow, sweet dissolution of his brain into nothing but something for Patrik to play with is . . . intoxicating.

Humiliating, shameful, frankly a little terrifying. But intoxicating more than anything.

That doesn’t mean he can’t be curious. That doesn’t mean he can’t test boundaries. Pushing Patrik’s buttons is one of Nikolaj’s favourite pastimes, and it’s always fun to wrestle away the upper hand.

Sometimes, Nikolaj reminds himself that Patrik’s compulsion only works because he lets it.

One night, he . . . tries something.

They’re back on Pandora, hiding out from trouble even Patrik couldn’t get them out of, holed up in Patrik’s apartment. It’s been three days and Nikolaj’s spent most of it in a daze, listening to every suggestion in Patrik’s honey-sweet voice. To be honest, they don’t have much _else_ to do.

But the third night, Nikolaj claws his way out of the compulsion while Patrik’s fingering him open, gasping for breath like he’s just been drowning, back arching off the bed. Patrik’s fingers slip out, and he gives Nikolaj a curious look, head cocked to one side.

Nikolaj gives himself a second to breathe through it—the emptiness left behind by Patrik’s fingers, and the sharp clarity left behind by his compulsion. Then he gets his knees around Patrik’s hips and twists, flipping them both, so Patrik lands on his back and Nikolaj’s straddling his thighs.

“Nikolaj,” Patrik starts, the warning clear in his tone.

Nikolaj doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else. He’s a lot faster than Patrik, and it only takes a second for him to lean over and reach for the bedside table. Then he rears back, settling back on Patrik’s thighs.

The point of his knife presses an indent into Patrik’s skin, right over his sternum.

“Nikolaj,” Patrik repeats. His eyes are wide and wild, and Nikolaj shivers. 

“Not this time,” Nikolaj says, lips pulling into a grin. He traces the knife down Patrik’s skin; not enough pressure to break skin, but enough to leave a thin, fading red line. “This time I’m in charge.”

Patrik gives him this indiscernible look. Almost angry, almost intrigued, like he’s not sure he’s okay with this. Well, Nikolaj doesn’t really care if he’s _okay_ with it. As much as he likes being Patrik’s plaything (and he likes it _too_ much), it’s his turn to call the shots.

“Nikolaj.” Patrik’s voice is quiet. It presses like fingertips into Nikolaj’s shoulders, trying to make him buckle under its weight. “Put down the knife.”

Nikolaj’s grip tightens around the knife. He grins even wider. “_No_.”

Patrik’s eyes narrow. His anger burns like a wildfire through every point of contact between their skin.

Carefully, Nikolaj scoots forward, until he can feel Patrik’s dick against his ass. He keeps the knife pressed to Patrik’s skin as he reaches back, taking Patrik in hand to line him up, gritting his teeth on a whine at the blunt pressure of Patrik’s cock against his hole.

Then he sinks all the way down, and a moan knocks loose from his chest. Fuck, he’s _full_.

Patrik groans, head tipping back, exposing all the moles on his throat. Shuddering, Nikolaj drags the point of the knife up Patrik’s skin. “Hey,” he manages, “look at me.”

He’s expecting it when Patrik’s eyes flash open, electric blue, pupils blown wide and dark. It still rocks him like a bolt of lightning, down his spine and straight to his cock. Patrik’s power is in his voice, but his fucking eyes can carve into Nikolaj just as easily. It’s part of why Patrik likes eye contact so much.

(It’s why Nikolaj likes it, too.)

“Watch me,” Nikolaj tells him. He squeezes experimentally around Patrik’s dick and they both groan, Nikolaj’s hand slipping where it’s braced on Patrik’s abdomen. His grip on the knife stays solid, though, if only because he’s been playing with knives since long before he ever fucked anyone. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Patrik lifts his brows. “Give me something to watch, then.”

There’s compulsion in his voice, but a challenge, too. Nikolaj can only resist one of them.

Slowly, Nikolaj lifts up on already aching legs. The drag of Patrik’s cock against his prostate feels like sparks of electricity up his spine, makes him wheeze. He pauses a moment with Patrik’s dick almost fully out, before sinking back down so fast it burns. “Oh, fuck.”

Patrik’s lips quirk. “Too much?” His fingertips brush Nikolaj’s knees, dance up the tops of his thighs. “This is why you should let me be in charge, Niky. I know what I’m doing. I know how to make it hurt the way you want it to.”

For a moment, Nikolaj’s almost caught in the golden haze of his voice. It washes over him like syrup, like honey, like something molten; it melts away his defenses, and it _would_ be better to let Patrik do what he wants, wouldn’t it? Nikolaj sways forward, hand slipping over Patrik’s skin, eyes fluttering shut—

The weight of the knife in his hand is a pretty good reminder. Nikolaj forces his eyes open, struggles until his head’s above the water. “_No_,” he snarls. This time, when he puts pressure on the knife, it breaks skin. A bead of dark blood pools at the tip of the blade. 

The languid smirk slips off Patrik’s face, mouth twisting into a scowl. “I’m making you pay for this.”

Nikolaj digs the knife in a little harder. “I’m counting on it.”

He rides Patrik torturously slowly. Every shift of his hips is agonizing, every flex of his thighs an ache he knows he’ll feel for days. Nikolaj’s already raw, nerves already frayed, and being the one in control—well, he has nobody to blame but himself when grinds down on Patrik’s cock and gasps out, half in pleasure and half in pain.

“Go faster,” Patrik tells him, and Nikolaj’s thighs twitch and his breath catches. He doesn’t listen. The power he has here is fragile, and he wants to . . . to savour it.

He goes as slow as he can, until he can’t handle that anymore. Then he fucks himself down on Patrik’s dick harder, faster, rolling his hips for the perfect angle. Having Patrik under him like this—temporarily declawed, a predator in a flimsy cage—is fucking intoxicating.

Nikolaj’s climbing towards the edge; his pleasure building, arousal blazing wild in his belly and bleeding into his limbs. He rides Patrik recklessly, knocking the knife aside as he splays both hands on Patrik’s chest for balance. He thinks he’s making some truly _awful_ noises but he doesn’t care—all he can think of is the fullness inside him, the burning pleasure of every time his hips flex. He’s almost—almost—

“Nikolaj,” Patrik murmurs, quiet and sure, “let it go.”

_Oh_.

He comes with a whine, collapses against Patrik’s chest while his body trembles through the aftershocks. “Good, Niky,” Patrik murmurs, the words smooth like silk over Nikolaj’s shaking shoulders. “Now give yourself back to me.”

Nikolaj slips into the fog.

Vaguely, he feels Patrik’s hands gripping around his hips, feels Patrik thrusting up into him. His body buzzes, oversensitive. Nikolaj doesn’t care. He writhes on Patrik’s chest, licks the sweat off his skin, desperate just to have _more_ of him.

Then Patrik comes, hot and messy inside him, and Nikolaj whimpers and loses everything to the echo of Patrik’s voice in his head.

When he comes back, Patrik is still inside him. Everything from the waist down is aching. He doesn’t know how much time has passed; it’s not nearly as alarming as it should be. Patrik has him. That in itself shouldn’t be a comfort, but . . . Patrik _has_ him.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Patrik rubs circles into Nikolaj’s sore hips, chest rising and falling beneath Nikolaj’s cheek. “It’s better like this, isn’t it?”

Nikolaj resists the compulsion to speak. Patrik knows the answer anyway.

* * *

“What would you do if I left?”

Drowsily, Patrik lifts his head off the pillow, eyes narrowing as he gazes into Nikolaj’s face. Nikolaj can’t blame him. Long day, long night—Nikolaj’s only still awake because he can’t turn his brain off. Can’t stop thinking about it.

“What?”

Nikolaj shifts, squirming a little while he tries to settle his hips into a more comfortable position. The hotel they’re staying in is luxurious, but the sheets still feel like paper against his back. He’s always more sensitive after Patrik’s taken him apart. “If I left,” he says slowly, head turned to watch the way Patrik’s eyes flick down to his mouth, “what would you do?”

Patrik’s hand reaches up, fingers trailing almost threateningly down Nikolaj’s throat. “You won’t.” His thumb smooths over Nikolaj’s throat, and Nikolaj’s all too aware that it wouldn’t actually take much for Patrik to crush his windpipe. He shivers.

“No, but—“

“You’re mine,” Patrik says, the words a pressure at the back of Nikolaj’s skull. “You know you belong to me, Nikolaj.”

“I know,” Nikolaj grinds out, teeth clenched together as he tries not to fall under. “But I could, Patty. So if I did, what would you do?”

Patrik makes an annoyed noise and rolls over, the warmth of his mind vanishing, and suddenly Nikolaj’s staring at his back. He seems miles away despite how close they are. “Don’t think about this so much,” Patrik snaps, and it’s not quite compulsion that keeps Nikolaj from speaking. “You’re fun, Niky, but when I lose a toy I just go find myself another one.”

And maybe Nikolaj should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming, all those times he’s peeked into Patrik’s mind and seen _possession_. But he didn’t.

He stares at the muscles of Patrik’s shoulders, at the slow movement of his back as he breathes. Any compulsion slipping into the cracks of his skull is completely gone now. He’s just . . . hollow. Cold, with sweat cooling on his skin and Patrik’s body heat gone.

He kind of thought they were at least friends. All the months they’ve been doing this, falling into patterns and routines, pushing each other because they _know_ each other. Nikolaj’s trusted Patrik with his life, and Patrik’s done the same, and Nikolaj figured that meant _something_. Maybe that they were some fucked up, unbalanced version of partners. Maybe that it was a little more.

Apparently he fell for the compulsion harder than he thought he did.

He watches Patrik breathe until he falls asleep. Then he slips out of bed, packs up just enough to get by—he doesn’t know whether it’s loyalty or something stupider that keeps him from taking everything they have—and leaves the cocoon of their hotel room behind as he heads for the nearest docks.

It’s not supposed to feel like this, Nikolaj thinks, as he’s sitting in the backseat of a cab and staring at the lights flashing by out the window. It’s supposed to be a relief. Freedom from a bad situation. Instead, he feels like he’s stabbing Patrik in the back. He breathes in slowly, carefully, reaching up to scrub the sudden blur from his eyes.

Patrik can replace him. Maybe it won’t be someone as useful as Nikolaj, but the universe is a big place. 

Nikolaj’s not gonna lie to himself to make this work.

* * *

He ends up back on Pandora. After Patrik, it’s the closest thing to a home he has.

Plus, Pandora knows him. They know his job experience and credentials, so to speak. So it’s stupidly easy to start a life back up again, joining the newest big mercenary group and becoming indispensable. He’s making good money and he’s actually respected, which is a fucking change from his last several months.

He keeps hoping for something that’s not gonna happen, but at least he’s not delusional about it. The rational parts of him know Patrik’s not gonna come looking for him, that Patrik’s already moved on to whatever shiny new thing has caught his eye, taking whatever he wants.

He _knows_, it’s just—

It sucks.

But it had to happen. Nikolaj actually has enough self-respect to be more than someone’s bitch, and it’s not like he can’t get shit done on his own. He makes it big in his merc group, buddies up with the leader for his skill with a knife and his ability to get into places undetected. 

He doesn’t need Patrik. He’s just fine on his own. Maybe even better.

So really, it’s not all that surprising when he gets ambushed in an alley and shot in the side of the neck with something sharp, losing his footing and his consciousness seconds later. That’s the danger of being someone important on Pandora.

* * *

Nikolaj wakes up slowly, head pounding, body groggy and limp with the lingering effects of whatever drug he was injected with. He takes stock of himself before he opens his eyes; he’s sitting in a hard chair, arms wrenched uncomfortably behind the back with cold metal around his wrists. Nothing hurts too much, yet, and as far as he can tell he’s not missing any body parts.

Which isn’t really a good sign. That just means someone wants him alive and awake to torture.

Finally, he opens his eyes. Everything’s blurry at first, and all Nikolaj sees is a dark room and bright lines of white light. He blinks a bit, shakes the rhythmic heartbeat out of his head. 

It’s an empty room, all sleek black metal and a few vivid lights embedded into the wall in strips of white. Nikolaj glances down at himself—shirtless, shoeless, but still wearing pants—then back, just barely managing to see the cuffs around his wrists pinning his arms behind the chair.

Fuck. This is pretty fucking bad.

A hiss echoes through the room. Nikolaj’s neck aches with how quick he glances in the direction of the sound. It’s a door sliding open, previously hidden in the seamless lines of the wall, and a man steps through flanked by a couple guys wearing armour and helmets.

Well, Nikolaj doesn’t recognize the guy. Which is probably even worse.

He offers a grin, leaning forward until his shoulders burn. “Nice to meet you.”

The man’s eyes narrow. He’s pretty average looking, dark hair and eyes, a square face lined with age. “We’ve met,” he says, short and clipped. “You took something from me.” He steps in close, towering over Nikolaj. The weight of his stare has nothing on Patrik’s. Maybe he realizes Nikolaj’s not looking away first; he grabs Nikolaj’s jaw, the pressure of his fingers painful as he wrenches Nikolaj’s face up further. “You made a fucking fool out of me, you spineless little whore.”

_Whore_ . . . oh, shit.

This isn’t one of Nikolaj’s enemies. This is one of Nikolaj-and-Patrik’s enemies. Which, really, is so much worse. They’d fucked over a lot of important people all across the galaxy, just as many politicians as crime lords. This guy could be any of those, if he’s got a whole fucking room as nice as this _just_ for torture. 

Nikolaj keeps his mouth shut, glaring up at the guy. He’s not giving this guy shit, whatever he’s gonna do, whether he’s in this for answers or just to make Nikolaj hurt.

The man scowls. His hand fists in Nikolaj’s long hair—Nikolaj almost snaps at him, because that’s _Patrik’s_—and pulls hard. Nikolaj’s head wrenches back, throat exposed as he glares up into the guy’s dark eyes. “Now you’re going to bring your partner here,” the man says, low and rumbling, “and then I’m going to make you _both_ pay.”

His grip loosens. Seconds later his fist crashes into Nikolaj’s jaw.

Pain blooms as Nikolaj slumps to the side. His jaw aches, the pain radiating up to his cheekbone, to the roots of his teeth. His head’s ringing.

“Patrik’s not coming,” he says quietly, after the silence has stretched too long.

Fingers around his jaw again. The man’s thumb presses into the ache where he just punched, tugging Nikolaj’s head back around too fast. There’s fury burning in his black eyes. “Excuse me?”

Nikolaj blinks up at him. “We’re not partners anymore. He’s not coming.” A low, humourless laugh slips out. “You’re wasting your time, I guess.”

It’s kind of funny that after all the shit Patrik’s done to him, now he’s gonna finish it off with getting Nikolaj killed. He doesn't even need to use his compulsion to do it. Or maybe it’s not funny at all, but Nikolaj can’t really do anything but laugh about it anyway. He knows he’s not making it out of this alive.

The guy doesn’t seem too happy about Nikolaj’s amusement with the situation. His mouth twists in a frown, thumbnail sharp in Nikolaj’s skin. “You’ll make him come,” he snarls, leaning in close, breath hot on Nikolaj’s face. “Or you’d better hope you do. Because if you don’t—“ He stands, lets Nikolaj go.

A flash of silver catches Nikolaj’s eye right before the knife stabs him in the thigh.

“_Fuck_—“ He jolts, arms straining against the cuff as sharp, electric pain courses up his leg. His breathing’s gone ragged. 

Slowly, the man crouches. He’s staring up at Nikolaj now, one finger on the hilt of the knife. “You’d better hope he comes,” he says again, softly, almost sweetly, and sways the knife back and forth. Nikolaj grits his teeth. “Because if he doesn’t show up, I’m taking it all out on you.”

He yanks his knife out as he stands, the pain bursting brighter. Nikolaj clenches his jaw and doesn’t make a sound, ignoring the warmth of blood staining his pants. 

“Don’t damage him too much just yet,” the man says, gesturing over Nikolaj’s body with the bloody knife. “Just make him pretty for the camera.”

* * *

Nikolaj’s been alone in the dark for hours when the door hisses open again. Alone long enough for the bruises to really start showing.

He knows he probably looks like shit. The entire left side of his face feels like one big bruise, pounding in time with his heartbeat. Breathing hurts, sharp in his throat and something deeper in his chest, from the bruises around his throat and the couple of cracked ribs he’s pretty sure he’s got. All that isn’t even counting all the places they’ve cut him up. Shallow enough he doesn’t bleed out, deep enough to sting every time he twitches.

At least his nose stopped bleeding a while ago. He’s pretty sure it’s a bit busted.

Nikolaj doesn’t bother looking in when footsteps click into the room. “We’re going to send a little message,” the asshole says, his voice oozing fake charm. “If you say anything to try and discourage your partner from coming—“

“Not my partner,” Nikolaj mumbles.

The slap rings _hard_ through his bruised face. Yeah, he should've expected that one.

“Shut the fuck up.” The guy clicks his tongue, there’s a beat, and suddenly a hand fists in Nikolaj’s hair and drags his head up. He blinks blearily into the glass eye of a little floating camera. “Patrik . . . Laine, right?” The fingers tighten in Nikolaj’s hair. “You took something from me, so now I have something of yours. If you want to get him back, I’d be willing to negotiate.” He wrenches Nikolaj’s head back sharp and painful and Nikolaj gasps, heaving down air through the strain on his neck. “If you don’t want him back?”

The cold edge of a knife slides across Nikolaj’s throat. It stings, pulled even sharper by the angle of his head, and Nikolaj’s pretty sure he feels blood.

“Then he’s mine to do with as I please.”

With a click, the camera shutters off and disappears out of Nikolaj’s field of view. The grip on his hair vanishes and his head lolls forward, heart pounding in his throat. 

He’s gonna die here. Patrik’s not coming, and men like this—Nikolaj still doesn’t even know his name—don’t do mercy _or_ bargains. Maybe it’s not really funny that he’s dying because of Patrik, but maybe it’s . . . fitting? One last way Patrik owns him?

Maybe he’s concussed. No, he’s—he’s definitely concussed. It still feels fitting.

They leave him alone, sitting in the dark and struggling to breathe. Nikolaj sort of . . . drifts. In and out of consciousness, never quite falling asleep before pain manages to wake him up. Hours pass; someone slips into the room, tips water down his throat, leaves him alone again. 

Hours stretch into a day—Nikolaj’s pretty sure—and that stretches even further. It’s hard keeping track of time when he can’t stay awake and can’t fall asleep, and the only metric he has to go by is that maybe every few hours someone gives him water. Not food, though, which really just cements how shitty his chances are. They’re not interested in keeping him alive long term.

He’s sore. His ribs hurt. He misses Patrik.

Days later—maybe—the door hisses open and the asshole finally steps back into the room. He leaves his armed guards outside this time, and Nikolaj swallows down a sigh of relief that they’re not coming in to rough him up some more.

A hand fists in his hair, forces his face up. “Maybe you were right,” the guy says, his eyes dark as he stares down at Nikolaj. Nikolaj sneers at him, ignoring the pain of his bruises and the cut across his cheekbone. “He hasn’t even tried to contact us.”

“Told you,” Nikolaj manages smugly, barely more than a croak.

Despite everything, he’s kind of relieved. The only thing worse than being cuffed to this chair would be Patrik right here next to him.

“Fine.” The silver of the knife glints in the man’s free hand. Nikolaj’s heart jumps into his throat, breath hitching. “If I can’t have Laine, I can at least have some fun with his bitch.” A grin unfurls across his face as he brings the knife to Nikolaj’s cheek—and rests the tip of the blade dangerously close to his eye.

“Wait—wait,” Nikolaj stammers, desperation bitter on the back of his tongue. “I know Patrik’s patterns—I know where he might be hiding—“

“You should have thought of that earlier.”

Nikolaj blinks. Panic wells up inside him like bile. “I could help you find him.” He leans away from the blade but the hand in his hair keeps him from going too far. “Then you could have us both. Right?”

“We’ll find Laine eventually,” he says, and the tip of the blade breaks the delicate skin just under Nikolaj’s eye. 

Nikolaj jolts, bare feet scrabbling uselessly at the smooth ground like he can push himself away, chest heaving as he gulps down air. “Don’t—“

Two muffled gunshots echo into the silence.

The man pauses. His eyes flick to the door, then back down to Nikolaj. Back to the door again. It’s silent now, except for Nikolaj’s panicked breathing and his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

“What’s going on?” the man calls. Silence. 

He curses, pulling the knife away from Nikolaj’s face—Nikolaj almost fucking passes out in relief—and stepping behind him. Then he puts the knife to Nikolaj’s throat, wrenches his head back again and snarls, “don’t say a fucking word, do you understand me?”

The door hisses open. Patrik walks inside.

There’s blood spattered on his clothes, on his jaw, and he’s so pissed he’s shaking—Nikolaj doesn’t think he’s ever looked better.

“Not one step closer,” the man snarls. Nikolaj’s head gets pulled back even more, neck straining, each breath a wheeze. “Or your boytoy’s dead.”

Patrik’s eyes flick down. Nikolaj grins at him, maybe a little delirious.

“I think . . .” Patrik says slowly, voice low, resonating in the silence. He hums, like he’s considering. Even though the compulsion isn’t meant for him Nikolaj feels it anyway—from his scalp, down his spine, to the soles of his feet. Fuck, he’s missed that. “I think you should go out into the hall and blow your brains out. Right?”

The knife at Nikolaj’s throat slips away and clatters to the floor. The grip on his hair loosens, then disappears completely; without the support his head lolls forward, and he watches the asshole’s boots as he shuffles out from behind him and towards the door. He keeps watching until the man’s out of view.

A second later, another gunshot rings through the air.

Ha. Looks like he didn’t know about Patrik’s special little _gift_.

Speaking of Patrik. He strides into Nikolaj’s space, big hands curling around Nikolaj’s jaw, tipping his head back up. Nikolaj blinks up at him. The anger’s all bled out, and now Patrik looks utterly _wrecked_. His eyes are wide and wild, his cheeks a blotchy pink. “Niky,” he murmurs.

Then he surges down and presses a desperate, bruising kiss to Nikolaj’s mouth.

Nikolaj leans into it immediately, arms straining against the cuffs. The kiss tastes like blood and hurts against Nikolaj’s bruises and it’s probably the best kiss he’s ever had. It’s also, he realizes distractedly as Patrik’s teeth graze a cut on his lower lip, the first time Patrik’s ever kissed him.

He makes a noise into Patrik’s mouth when Patrik moves back, pulling so hard against the cuffs his wrists burn. Patrik leans away anyway, catches Nikolaj’s gaze with electric blue eyes.

“Please don’t do that to me again,” he says, voice ragged.

Oh. He’s never said _please_ before, either.

Patrik’s fingertips brush over his face—the bruises on his cheekbone, the cut on his lip, the gash over his eyebrow. “I was wrong,” he chokes. “I know now. You’re mine.” His mouth twists, his face softening as he runs his fingers through Nikolaj’s hair, soothing the sting still lingering on his scalp. “I’m keeping you forever.”

Smiling hurts, but Nikolaj can’t make himself stop. He leans into Patrik’s touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He hasn’t used his compulsion on Nikolaj once. Heart hammering, Nikolaj drags his eyes open and meets Patrik’s stare head-on. “What if I don’t let you keep me?” He arches into the press of Patrik’s hand in his hair. “You know I can resist it. You know you can’t make me stay if I don’t want to.” He grins, a little cruel. “Maybe I want you to beg me for it.”

Patrik scowls. His eyes flash dangerously, fingers going tight in Nikolaj’s hair for just a second. Then he exhales, long and slow—and drops gracefully to his knees. “Niky,” he says, half-humble, half-pissed, hands framing Nikolaj’s face again, “please come back to me.”

As far as begging goes, it kind of sucks. But Nikolaj wasn’t looking for Patrik to be good at begging—he doesn’t _want_ Patrik to be good at begging. He just wants Patrik to beg for _him_.

He grins, breathless. “I’m with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Patrik croons, mouth tugging into a crooked smile. A familiar weight settles soft and sweet at the base of Nikolaj’s skull. “Let’s get out of here.”

He unlocks the cuffs around Nikolaj’s wrist, helps him massage some feeling back into his numb, tingling fingers. Nikolaj curls his toes, making a face at how liquid his legs feel. His whole body is weak and shaky and still buzzing with lingering pain and fading panic.

Apparently Patrik recognizes he probably won’t be walking anytime soon. He wraps an arm around Nikolaj’s back, one under his knees, then hefts him up like he weighs nothing. A shiver runs up Nikolaj’s spine and he curls into Patrik’s warmth, eyes falling shut. “Hold on tight,” Patrik says, words slipping through Nikolaj’s skull. A warm, golden haze settles over his mind like a blanket, dragging him down, melting the tension from his limbs.

Nikolaj buries his face in Patrik’s neck. Breathes in deep.

“You’re mine too,” he mumbles. He doesn’t know if Patrik hears him, but it’s fine.

Nikolaj can remind him again later.

**Author's Note:**

> dubcon tag: patrik can compel people with his voice; nikolaj is fully capable of resisting, but often chooses not to. consent gets complicated when vague space magic is involved 🤷🏻
> 
> anyway! see you all in hell!
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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